The Númenórean and the Black Hand
by Yalmari
Summary: In battle... the mightiest of living men engages in combat with the Dark Lord in an apocalyptic battle that only was a shadow and a thought in the minds of others.


Upon the footsteps of death the Dark Lord strides, closer through his own ranks, leaving them to scatter like scavengers from the kill at the heels of the wolf, his intent set upon the man who would seek to end his rule. Aragorn quickly unsheaths Anduril; Flame of the West.. reforged from the shards of Narsil as he sees the dark presence come closer to him. Shadows seemed to circle the looming Maiar as the Dark Lord came close to him.. and yet he stood his ground. Words of flowing Elvish spill in soft tones from the man's lips as his hand grips tight the hilt of Anduril, a weapon that, much like himself, was given new form and purpose by the fates of this war. Opening his eyes to let his gaze fall upon Sauron, his keen Númenórean vision catching sight of the Ring of Power on his finger. He suddenly felt drawn to it.. but caught himself before he was lost in temptation. He would not make the same mistake his ancestor Isildur made. Summoning up what courage he had left in this heated battle, he raised Anduril.. pointing it at Sauron. "You have gone unchallenged.. long enough!" The elvish markings on the sword brightened suddenly, seeming to shine like numerous different stars.  
  
Upon seeing this.. Sauron halted abruptly, letting the arm that wields his mace fall to his side, suddenly hesitant as the one weapon that he cannot abide comes into view. The mere act of defiance from Aragorn itself draws the Dark Lord to stilled steps, gaze as cold as ice faltered for but a second as it flowed over Aragorn, mind on little else. But the battle still raged around them, and for some it seems a bleak end.  
  
With a might war cry, Aragorn plunged into a heated battle with the Dark Lord, courage, determintion, and the will to achieve victory on his side.   
  
With a mighty swing after several minutes of fighting, Sauron managed to lay a heavy blow against Aragorn's chest armour, sending the Númenórean flying into the air. Many things rest in the mind of a man during death, many thoughts spring into being as his last breath leaves his lips, and Aragorn must be no different. The vicious blow of the Dark Lord across his chest threw him far from sight, far from thought, into nothingness. The sound of battle seemed far from the ears of Aragorn, for now he heard only the songs of sweet voices, the feeling of warmth against his battle torn skin. Sauron watched this with amusement, knowing this would not kill the man. He was too strong, too determined.. the light of the Evenstar protected him. He was graced by the Valar. The Dark Lord then transformed into the form of a vampire bat (Maiar being known to change their physical shapes), Sauron took to the air, going in the direction Aragorn would have landed.  
  
The blow felt fatal for the lost King of Gondor. He knew in his mind that he had died... that with that one blow from Sauron his soul had been ripped from his body and taken to the Halls of Mandos. Or so it seemed. He opened his eyes.. and the vision before him shocked him. He was in Lothlorien.. laying on the soft ground, the sweet melodic tune of an Elvish woman in the woods falling upon his ears, as if soothing him and giving his soul back. He tried to sit up.. only to stop himself as the form of Galadriel appeared at his feet, her slender hand extending and placing it upon the side of his face. It was her voice that called him forth, back to life, to being. It was warm to his flesh, which the very warmth seemed to have been drawn away when Sauron struck him. Her touch alone seemed to return that warmth, and he felt life inside of him again. A soft smile graced Galadriel's features, and Aragorn just stared at her in amazement. Then, to the King's surprise.. she spoke. "You are our last hope, Aragorn Elessar... without you, all chance of life is lost." She then leaned in, placing a soft kiss to the man's brow. "..Make the grace of the Valar.. protect you."  
  
Her eyes glowed with deep wisdom and faith, and Aragorn fell still, even as the world seemed to fade away once more, replaced then by the snow at his back in that next instant. He knew the Elven woman had softened the blow, given him the grace to survive the land upon the drifts in the mountains beyond Minas Tirith. His eyes flickered open, and when he began to rise to his feet, he saw a bat land on the snow infront of him. It did not take him but a second to know who it was. Bringing up Anduril above his shoulder just as Sauron transformed into regular form, he swung it forward, as hard as his muscles would permit him to do in his condition.  
  
But Sauron's mace was there, striking against the metal of Anduril with such horrific force that it literally shook the mountainside. Aragorn suddenly felt a renewed strength within him, rising to a boiling point of hope. Advancing forward toward Sauron, he drew the blade back and quickly up, aiming to crack against the Maiar's armour. Sauron was not quick enough to move his footing back and parry at the same time, and the force of Anduril collided into his chest armor, cracking it and splitting it open. With a howl of rage that made the snow shudder and began to fall, he brought his mace up over his head.. and down upon the smaller frame of Aragorn, Son of Arathorn.. aiming to crush him completely within his mindless rage. Aragorn knew this would happen, having merely predicted it, it was usual in this attack position, the Ranger had come to find in past battles and wars. The man quickly pivoted to the side of the strike, and let the mace slam into the mountainside, creating a large crater where he stood seconds before. But that wasn't the end of his movements. He let out his war cry. "ELENDIL!" Elendil, being his ancestor whom had been slain by Sauron himself in the Last Alliance. Anduril came soaring up from below, finding its mark in the center of the split in Sauron's armor, jamming up into the black abyss of his chest. Silence issued as Aragorn watched the still form of Sauron impaled on the Flame of the West.  
  
With a grunt of defeat.. Sauron's mace fell from his hands, landing on the snow. Aragorn took this opportunity, and removed the blade quickly, the sword covered in a blackish colored blood. Sauron slumped forward onto the snow, still alive, but injured greatly. It would take a few minutes for him to recover and get back into battle. The wise Númenórean knew this.. and did what had to be done. Raising the sword.. he brought it down to Sauron's right ring finger, the one that bears the Ring of Power. With one mighty slice, it cut the ring from Sauron's body, and a white light produced internally from Sauron himself. Reaching down, seeming to ignore Sauron in his throes of defeat.. Aragorn's fingers curled over the Ring, the object of such pain and loss, and pulled it free from the frozen depths of its resting place. It was in that moment when the light becomes too much, and a shockwave filled the land around them. 


End file.
